“Mister. Would you like to play a game with me?” These seemingly innocuous words to debt-ridden Gi-hun (Lee Jung-Jae) by a mysterious recruiter (Gong-Yoo) lead him to an opportunity for financial salvation – at the expense of human lives, including possibly his own.Squid Game’s third and final season has now been released, and fans can’t wait to see more green tracksuits and brutal games. But here’s what’s really driving the obsession: the show perfectly captures how financial stress warps our minds. It reveals the dark psychology of how money problems affect every decision we make.As a researcher studying the intersection of cognitive psychology and media dissemination, I’ve been fascinated by Squid Game’s unprecedented global impact. My work on how emotional regulation affects decision-making and moral reasoning provides a unique lens for understanding why this particular show resonated so powerfully with audiences worldwide. Especially during a time of economic uncertainty.Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.Scientists have discovered that financial stress decreases cognitive function. Recent research analysing more than 111,000 people found that financial stress reduced their performance when completing basic tasks. This isn’t about poorer people being less intelligent, but rather an effect called “bandwidth hijacking” that causes mental fatigue when worrying about rent and debt. Worrying about unpaid bills mean less processing power is left for anything else, including moral reasoning and long-term thinking.Sounds familiar? This research is brought to life in Squid Game. Take Sang-woo, (Park Hae-soo) in season one. The brilliant Seoul National University graduate’s crippling debt (caused by bad investments) leads him to become a participant in the brutal Squid Games. Abandoning the etiquette of his high-flying circles, he manipulates and maliciously betrays fellow contestant Ali (Anupam Tripathi) in the marble game, pushes a man to his death on the glass bridge, and ultimately tries to kill his childhood friend, Gi-hun. Sang-woo’s intelligence becomes laser-focused on survival, leaving no mental space for the moral reasoning that would typically guide his decisions. The trailer for Squid Game season three. Squid Game shows how financial desperation dehumanises people. Bodies have piled up throughout the seasons, but the players barely react to the carnage. They’re transfixed by something else entirely: the digital display showing their prize money growing with each death.Such reminders of the financial stakes lead to reduced requests for help and reduced help towards others. This “tunnel vision” phenomenon occurs in real life too, leading to the abandonment of empathy and moral considerations.Sang-woo doesn’t betray Ali because he’s evil – he does it because financial desperation has hijacked his moral reasoning. Look at Ali’s face during the marble game: confused, trusting, unable to process that his “hyung” (older brother, a term of respect) would manipulate him. Ali represents what we lose when desperation turns humans into competitors rather than a community.Even Gi-hun, the supposed moral centre of the show, experiences this. When he and elderly contestant Il-nam (O Yeong-su) play marbles, Gi-hun lies and manipulates the old man he’s grown to care about. The extreme pressure – both financial and mortal – has consumed so much of his cognitive bandwidth that even basic human compassion becomes secondary to survival.Why we couldn’t look awaySquid Game season one premiered during the COVID pandemic when millions around the world faced unemployment, eviction and financial ruin. Suddenly, extreme economic scenarios didn’t feel so remote. Audiences weren’t just watching entertainment – they saw their own psychological struggles reflected back at them.The show has been such a success because it reveals uncomfortable truths about how money doesn’t just change what we can do, but fundamentally alters who we become when survival depends on it.Every character in Squid Game represents a different response to economic trauma. Take season one. Gi-hun tries to maintain his humanity but repeatedly compromises (lying to his mother about money, manipulating Il-nam). Sang-woo sacrifices everything for survival (from securities fraud to literal murder). And some find strength in solidarity, as in Sae-byeok (HoYeon Jung) and Ji-yeong’s (Lee Yoo-mi) heartbreaking marble game, where Ji-yeong deliberately loses because Sae-byeok has more to live for.The genius is in the details. Players refer to each other by numbers instead of names, a metaphor for how economic systems reduce humans to data points. The guards wear masks, becoming faceless enforcers of the system. Even the organ-harvesting subplot shows how far commodification can go, turning human bodies into black market goods.Three seasons later, Squid Game itself has become a commodity. Netflix turned an anti-capitalist critique into a billion-dollar franchise, complete with reality TV spinoffs that recreate the exploitation of the show (without the murder!) in real life. Game shows offer high-risk, high-reward opportunities, where people admire the boldness and accept that unethical behaviour should not be vilified but encouraged. The spectacle of humiliation is normalised by the genre’s focus on competition and transformation. Failure becomes entertainment, as is echoed in the show itself by the VIPs who, so bored with their wealth, place bets on human lives for “fun”. Research has also found that people who enjoy reality TV are more likely to feel self-important, vindicated, or free from moral constraints. They are attracted to shows that stimulate these values.What your Squid Game obsession or hatred meansIf you’re fascinated by Squid Game, it isn’t just morbid curiosity at play – it’s recognition. On some level, it’s likely that you understand that the psychological pressure cooker of the games reflects real mechanisms happening in your own life when money gets tight.If you found yourself repulsed by the violence or bored by the hype, your reaction may reveal something important about how you process economic anxiety. Research on adult viewers shows that people with stronger financial security and emotional regulation are more likely to avoid media content that triggers economic stress responses. Others dismiss it as “unrealistic” – what psychologists call “optimism-bias”, where you may unconsciously distance yourself from economic vulnerability. Modern research confirms that financial scarcity creates measurable changes in how we think, plan and relate to others. The show’s genius was amplifying these subtle psychological effects to their logical extreme.In a world where economic inequality continues to rise, Squid Game isn’t just entertainment – it’s a mirror for our collective financial anxieties.Edward White is affiliated with Kingston University.